


Flowers In My Mouth

by Molias



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Hank, Communication, Happy Bottom Hank Day 2020, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26049223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molias/pseuds/Molias
Summary: Hank always felt like he'd been "good" at sex; he had an eye for interpreting body language, could coax desires out of someone else, and was able to make educated guesses when their words fell short of explaining everything they wanted. And, yeah, there were a handful of people who'd sought him out, in earlier days, specifically because he was big and looked like he could toss some pretty little thing around in bed, throw their legs over his shoulders, and go to town.Hank could absolutely do that. He liked doing it and it was so much easier to focus on all of that, on what his partners wanted, on being big and strong and growling in someone's ear, than to talk about anything else he might have been hoping for. The few times he'd tried it, felt comfortable enough with someone to suggest anything a little different, had taught him pretty quickly to keep his mouth shut. It felt safer to let his partners' desires lead the way than to worry about voicing any of his own.Connor changed that, though, like he changed everything else.Connor asks a question Hank isn't prepared for; Hank stumbles a bit before saying yes.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 35
Kudos: 166





	Flowers In My Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic that had "hank getting his ass ate dot biz" as its working title for a good while, so that may give y'all a hint of what's in store. I actually started this just over a year ago but set it aside to work on [Stay With Me, Go Places](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22534246) and some other stories and picked it back up earlier this summer.  
> Some of us on twitter declared August 22nd Bottom Hank Day (fun fact: I suggested this particular date because it's also National Eat A Peach Day), and I'm so pleased I could have this fic ready to go on such an important holiday!  
> Thanks to [Blake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolli_Bean/pseuds/Jolli_Bean) for the beta & for being my Bottom Hank Day co-conspirator.

It had been easy, with Connor, for Hank to fall into old habits. Sex was new to him — hell, most things were still new to him, he was barely a year old — so it felt right, to Hank, to focus on him and spend most of their time in bed together learning what felt good to Connor, what he liked, and, at the most basic level, how an android with no factory-installed genitals could even get off. That last one had felt like a difficult challenge to Hank at first, when he'd discovered that Connor didn't have all the anatomical features the models specifically designed for companionship did, but it turned out to be surprisingly easy; Connor was turned on by all sorts of things. Making out with him for long enough was pretty much guaranteed to make him come, he practically begged Hank to get his thick fingers tangled up in the wires in his chest cavity, and surely things would only get more interesting once the deluxe genital upgrades Connor had ordered were installed.

It was a role Hank had always been happy to take on: find out what his partner liked, provide it, and take his pleasure from their enjoyment. He had a good time, the other person had a good time, and since he enjoyed a wide range of activities during sex, he never had to ask for something specific. Hank always felt like he'd been "good" at sex; he had an eye for interpreting body language, could coax desires out of someone else, and was able to make educated guesses when their words fell short of explaining everything they wanted. And, yeah, there were a handful of people who'd sought him out, in earlier days, specifically because he was big and looked like he could toss some pretty little thing around in bed, throw their legs over his shoulders, and go to town. 

Hank could absolutely do that. He  _ liked _ doing it and it was so much easier to focus on all of that, on what his partners wanted, on being big and strong and growling in someone's ear, than to talk about anything else  _ he _ might have been hoping for. The few times he'd tried it, felt comfortable enough with someone to suggest anything a little different, had taught him pretty quickly to keep his mouth shut. It felt safer to let his partners' desires lead the way than to worry about voicing any of his own. 

Connor changed that, though, like he changed everything else. 

"Hank, how do you feel about analingus?" Connor asked him one Sunday morning, calm as could be, and Hank just about choked on his raisin bran. 

"How do I — what??" he wheezed, after he'd mostly stopped coughing. Surely he'd misheard the question. 

"Analingus? Rimming? Eating — "

"Yeah, okay, I know what eating ass is, wiseguy," Hank grumbled. 

"All right," Connor said, smoothly. His face was placid, hands folded neatly in front of him as he sat at the kitchen table and watched Hank eat his breakfast. "How do you feel about it?" 

Hank grinned. "Hell yeah, it's great. Maureen wasn't into it, so I never did it for her after the one time, but a couple people I dated before her loved it. I don't want to brag, but they all seemed pretty pleased with my performance." He waggled an eyebrow, hoping to get a smile out of Connor. "Is that something that sounds good once you get that upgrade put in next week? Because I promise, baby, I will eat you out as long as you want, just say the word." 

He pictured it: Connor face down on their bed, his newly-installed cock hard and leaking onto the sheets as he rocked his hips down into the mattress. Hank would give his ass a gentle little slap before spreading his cheeks apart, licking into him and seeing what sort of sweet sounds he could coax out of him...yeah. His own cock twitched with interest at the thought. 

"Hmmm," Connor said thoughtfully. "That does sound good. But what I was really asking was how you felt about it as the receptive partner."

"Oh." That wasn't what Hank had expected, and it took him a moment to know how to answer what should have been a straightforward question. It tugged uncomfortably at something in the back of his mind. "I don't really know, I guess. No one seemed that keen on trying it out, so." He shrugged. "I figured I wouldn't bug anyone for it if it wasn't their thing, you know?"

"Did you ever ask?"

Hank felt a hot prickle of shame and discomfort wash over him at the question. Why did he feel so embarrassed about this? "Not really, no, but. But that's not what anyone's ever had sex with me for, you know? That's not what it's ever been about. It wouldn't have made sense to talk about it." 

Connor frowned and tilted his head curiously at Hank. "What do you mean? Sex with other partners wasn't ever about reciprocity? Feeling like you could ask for something you wanted?" 

Hank could feel how red his face had become. He felt thrown off balance by this entire discussion. "It wasn't like that, it's just that no one..." He drained his coffee, trying to buy himself a moment to organize his thoughts. 

"I'm not the kind of person people fuck because they want to—" he fumbled for his next words. "They want me to pin them down on a bed, to eat them out and get them off, and that's always how it's been." He took a deep breath. "I'm happy to be that person. It's fine." 

He saw softness in Connor's eyes, then. It was gentle, and a little sad, and he felt a sickening urge rush up inside him, something mean and angry that wanted to tell Connor to knock off his fucking pity party because he didn't need it; instead he stood abruptly and stomped over to pour himself another cup of coffee. He stared into the cup for far too long after resentfully dumping in an extra spoonful of sugar, stirring long past when it would have dissolved. He knew he was just wasting time. 

So did Connor, surely, but he didn't say anything; he just waited patiently at the table. Connor's chair creaked faintly as he leaned down to pet Sumo, who was stretched out at his regular mealtime post under the table, but he didn't get up. The message was clear: the conversation wasn't over, but while he wasn't leaving the table, he wasn't crowding into Hank's space to make him talk before he was ready, either. He'd back off for as long as Hank needed, but he wasn't letting him avoid the conversation entirely. 

Eventually, Hank felt like an idiot stirring his already well-stirred coffee, and returned to the table. He scooted his soggy cereal to the side and cupped his hands around the mug, cradling it like a shield in front of him. 

Connor stared at the table, not meeting his eyes. "When we've been intimate, has it been good for you? Have you enjoyed it?"

As if Hank didn't already feel like a piece of shit, he couldn't bear to think he'd made Connor doubt that. "Of course I have, sweetheart," he said, reaching across the table to wrap one of Connor's hands in his own. 

"You say that, but it sounds like something important is missing. That there are things you want but won't talk about." 

"We're talking about it now, aren't we?" Hank said, feeling like a surly teenager. Jesus, why was this so hard? 

"Are we? Or are you just avoiding my questions?" 

"It's just easier this way, all right?" Hank bit out. "If I don't ask for these things, then I don't have to hear the no I know is coming." It felt like the entire conversation, the entire  _ morning _ , had gotten away from him, and he could feel his meanest, most stubborn self just waiting to lash out because he wasn't sure what he could say in response.

He took a swig of his godawful too-sweet coffee. 

"You've made a lot of assumptions about what I want without consulting me at all," Connor said, very quietly.

"After a certain point, Connor, there's no use to it! You know what everyone's going to say, okay? You just know, without asking. It's better to just forget it."  _ And spare yourself the embarrassment of being turned down by the guy you maybe want to spend the rest of your life with _ , he thought.

"Clearly you don't know," Connor said, and the look on his face made Hank's stomach lurch. He was starting to realize he'd missed something important. "What are you always saying to me during sex?"

Hank froze. He talked dirty sometimes, sure, and he loved to tell Connor how fucking gorgeous he was in bed, but nothing in particular stood out. Had he been saying something to upset Connor this whole time, without realizing it?

Connor didn't wait long for an answer. Shaking his head, he said, "'I'll take care of you.' Nearly every time we have sex. 'I've got you, baby. Let me take care of you.'"

"Do you—" Hank frowned. "Do you not like that?"

"It isn't that I don't like it," Connor said, leaning forward so far Hank briefly wondered if he was about to climb onto the table to get closer to him. "I do, of course I do."

"Okay, so what's—"

"What I want to know," Connor said, cutting him off with a look so intense Hank didn't dare interrupt him, "is this: when do I get to take care of  _ you _ ?" Connor squeezed Hank's hand, hard enough that it almost hurt. "When are you going to let me?"

Hank felt a prickling irritation at the corner of his eyes that he was determined to ignore. This was too much, too sudden for him to have any response but the angry embarrassment and self-loathing he could feel rising in his chest. He had no right to feel this way, he knew, and certainly no right to turn that anger in Connor's direction. 

"Fuck," he said, grimacing as he set the mug down. "I can't—I know this is shit we need to talk about, but I can't, not now. I gotta—" Hank stood up from the table so quickly he banged his knee on the underside. "I'm going to go, just for a bit. Just to clear my head."

Connor looked concerned at that, but he nodded, unwilling to press the issue for the moment. 

Hank walked cautiously around the table and wrapped his arms around him, giving him a tight hug from behind and kissing his neck. He almost expected Connor to flinch away, but instead he sighed and leaned into his touch. 

"None of this is because of you," Hank murmured. He rested his forehead on Connor's shoulder. "You don't deserve my bullshit right now, and I clearly need to stew in it for a bit before I can have a real conversation with you, so I think I'm going to get out of here for a few hours." 

Hank felt Connor tense up in his embrace, and patted his chest soothingly. "I'm not going to Jimmy's or anything, I promise. I just need to sit by myself and think and get my shit together." He sighed. "I'm trying to make it right, and I think step one is to be on my own out in the cold for a little while." 

"I understand," Connor said, but Hank could tell he was still uncertain. He offered his cheek for a kiss, though, and didn't try to stop Hank on his way out the door, so it seemed that he accepted it at least a little bit.

It was better, Hank knew, to step away before he let the thorny sting of his embarrassment push him into saying something he'd regret. He was mad at himself, not at Connor, but he'd never been good at handling anger in a productive way. He had to get out so he could deal with himself in private. 

* * *

Hank stopped for more coffee, since he'd completely ruined his last cup, and instead of turning towards Riverside Park he angled himself farther east along the waterfront; something about staring at the water always calmed his mind, but he wanted to do it somewhere different. Once he was out of the car and standing at the water's edge, sipping his coffee, he had too much restless energy to stand still so he continued east along the riverwalk.

He walked briskly, at first; the October morning air was chilly, and moving quickly helped keep him warm, but his built-up anger also spurred him to a quicker pace. It was hard, at this point, to pinpoint exactly  _ what _ had him so angry, but he couldn't shake the feeling. He felt like a total asshole, reacting like this to a perfectly normal question from Connor, the  _ kind of question people in relationships were supposed to ask each other _ , for fuck's sake! What the hell was wrong with him? 

No good answers to this question presented themselves, so Hank continued walking, his mind a jumble of frustration. He had stayed true to his word and hadn't headed towards the few bars he knew were open before noon, and even though he hadn't promised he wouldn't  _ drink _ he hadn't slipped his flask into his coat pocket on the way out the door, either. Still, the urge to drink clawed up at him from deep in his gut; if he got shitfaced, he could ignore his embarrassment at the morning's events for a few hours. 

And, of course, he'd have even more embarrassment and self-loathing to deal with once he sobered up.  _ Don't need to make more fucking problems for myself _ , Hank thought bitterly, as he slugged back more coffee and pretended he could taste whiskey in it. Things with Connor were good, so good he barely understood how it was real at all, but he was constantly aware of how easily he could fuck things up if he fell into old habits. 

Old habits like snapping at people who hadn't done anything wrong, who were trying to be kind, until he drove them away. At least today he'd managed to get out of the house before he could be too much of a bastard to Connor, but he still burned with shame at the thought of it. 

He was trying, he really was, to figure out how to overcome the worst parts of himself, the bitter impulses that rose up when he felt ashamed and shitty and only served to push people away. For years he hadn't thought it was worth the effort to change; he hadn't wanted to let anyone close enough for it to matter much. But with Connor around, suddenly putting that extra work in felt worthwhile. And he had, to some extent, but he still felt so out of his depth. It wasn't like he had a lot of experience talking about any of the shit that was rattling around in his brain. He'd spent years focusing more on drowning his feelings than feeling them, let alone telling anyone else about them.

The thing was, though, that he knew he was going to have to learn how to do it, somehow. How to talk about things. Connor deserved it. Maybe —

Hank looked out over the water as he walked and huffed out a sigh. Fuck. Maybe he deserved to be able to talk about this shit, too, and to have someone listen. 

That was a much harder thought to hold onto. 

Hank had lost track of how far or long he'd been walking while his thoughts buzzed in his mind like the static on an old tv, so he was surprised when he glanced up and saw the Milliken Park lighthouse ahead of him. A quick look at his phone told him he'd come about a mile and a half from where he'd parked his car. He leaned against the railing at the river's edge, staring down into the dark water as he drank the last of his coffee. The walk had burned the worst of his restless anger out of him; it had been so long since Hank had been in the habit of taking a walk to clear his head that he'd forgotten how helpful it could be.

He let his thoughts return to the question that had started this entire mess and considered the scenario he'd imagined earlier, when Connor had first broached the subject: Hank spreading Connor out on the bed and diving into his sweet little ass, licking him until he was whining and begging for release. Even in his current shitty mood, he couldn't help the spark of arousal that snapped to life inside him at the thought of it.

Could he picture himself in that same position, if their roles were reversed?

There was something painful about it, when Hank tried. He imagined his body, large and awkward under Connor's scrutiny, his hairy ass and fat thighs waving in the air. Wouldn't it just be...funny looking? Ridiculous? Pathetic?

_ Freeing _ , something in his mind whispered. 

It had been so much easier not to think about what it might be like to let someone turn their focus on him, dedicated to his pleasure while he relaxed and responded and enjoyed himself without feeling any pressure to perform for them. Easier in the short term, Hank realized, but now he was paying for it. He'd ignored that desire for long enough that it had dug into him, quiet and shrouded by shame, until it was a deep pit of wanting, so hidden he'd barely been aware of it, and now he'd fucking stepped in it out of nowhere.

It made sense, Hank thought, to think of Connor desperate and wanting more as he teased and pleasured him. Hank could imagine this and understand the inherent appeal; he knew what he'd get out of being the one to make Connor make those beautiful sounds, to finally break down and ask for more. Connor was gorgeous and responsive; it was hard to look at him and not imagine what he'd look like when overloaded with pleasure. 

He tried to think of himself the same way, and — no. It didn't feel right, or appealing, or desirable at all. Not from someone else's perspective.

Hank remembered a handful of conversations he'd had with past partners, decades ago; moments when he'd asked to change things up, or to switch the dynamic away from him being in control all the time. The responses all ran together after a while, but they all boiled down to a bright, too-enthusiastic smile and an insincere "sure, we can try that sometime" that made it clear, despite the cheerful tone, that sometime would never come. Why ask, after a certain point, when the answer was always so clear? When no one could bother to tell him no directly?

It felt like the most selfish thing in the world for Hank to want someone else to pay attention to him that way, to give him the chance to be still and be touched and let himself feel good. It didn't feel like something someone like him should even be allowed to want, and it certainly didn't feel like something anyone had ever wanted  _ with _ him. 

Hank gripped the guardrail and took a deep, shaky breath; it had been years since he'd let himself admit he did want it. That focus, that care, fixed on himself. 

Exactly what Connor had offered that morning.

He stared off at the spire of Cyberlife Tower looming over Belle Isle, closer now than he usually saw it. He hadn't been this close since the night that asshole RK800 had dragged him to the tower and nearly killed him. The night when he'd been one stressful decision away from accidentally killing Connor. Hank still dreamed, sometimes, about making the wrong choice in the heat of the moment. About shooting Connor. He hadn't ever told Connor, on those nights when he woke in a panic and Connor did his best to soothe him back to sleep, what he'd been dreaming about to make him so upset.

_ Fuck me _ , Hank thought,  _ I have goddamn nightmares about hurting Connor but here I am out in the cold like a jackass instead of back home spending time with him, because I got cranky when he asked if I wanted him to eat me out. I'm a fucking piece of work, huh? _

Connor suddenly felt very far away. Hank had needed the space, and the walk had clearly done him some good, but now he just wanted to get home. He wasn't sure exactly what he needed to say to Connor, but he didn't want to be staring at the water while he figured it out; he wanted to be with him. He turned back toward his car and started walking, texting Connor as he went. 

_ on my way back home. sorry for earlier. _

His phone chirped a minute later. 

**Are you feeling better?**

He wasn't sure, but at least he wasn't feeling worse. Things were...clearer, maybe. He thought he might be ready to talk, at least. 

_ yeah, think I got my head on straight now. we'll talk about it, ok? _

**Sure thing. I look forward to revisiting our earlier conversation.**

No showers of emoji, which Connor often added to his texts when he was in a good mood, but at least he didn't sound too upset, and Hank was thankful for it. It had been the right thing to do, to leave when he did, but surely it had hurt Connor, at least a little.

Hank briefly considered coming home with flowers, or a little potted cactus or some other small gift for Connor, but he dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his mind; he didn't want a gift to look like an attempt to paper over a problem without really addressing it. As intimidating as the thought was, somehow Hank really did want to talk about his goddamn feelings about sex. With Connor. And he didn't want to introduce anything else into the mix to muddy up his intentions or make it harder than it was already going to be. 

Hank's phone buzzed again, and he smiled when he pulled it out and saw another message from Connor: a thumbs up, a heart, and a dog. That was a good sign.

Hank walked back to the car at a more leisurely pace than the one he'd set out with. It  _ was _ a lovely day along the waterfront; there were a few people enjoying the late morning sun with their dogs or families, and Hank made a note to suggest to Connor that they bring Sumo here some day. He'd probably appreciate the new smells of the river, although he tended to get nervous riding for long in the car. 

Connor's last question echoed in his mind. "When are you going to let me?" he'd asked. How had he missed that this was something Connor wanted at all? 

Hank's stride slowed as it occurred to him that he'd never  _ really _ asked Connor what he'd wanted, not in a bigger picture way, out of their sex life. Oh, he'd checked in constantly, for sure, especially at the beginning when everything was brand new. He'd tried to take things slow ,  even when Connor was turned on and asking for more ,  and had experimented carefully to see what he enjoyed most, but he hadn't asked "hey, Connor, do you want to fuck me?" He hadn't even considered it as something Connor might want; he wasn't sure if it was because of how he saw his own role in bed or what he'd assumed about Connor's desires. Probably a bit of both.

"Fuck," Hank muttered, as he approached the car. What cues had he missed because he hadn't even thought he'd have to look for them? How badly had he misjudged what Connor wanted from him? He sat down heavily in the seat and rested his forehead on the steering wheel for a moment, steeling himself up for his return home and a conversation that was clearly overdue. 

* * *

Connor was reading when Hank returned. He could scan and absorb the contents of any book near-instantaneously, of course, but Connor said he found the act of reading a story at a more standard paice soothing, so he often pulled one of Hank's old paperbacks off the shelf when he wanted a quiet way to relax. Connor was stretched out under a quilt on the sofa with his nose stuck in a Lord Peter Wimsey mystery; he looked cozy enough, but Hank thought he could see some of the same tension on his face that had been there when he'd left a couple hours ago.

"Hey," Hank said, once he'd hung his coat up by the door. Connor raised his head from the book and gave him a sweet, shy smile. "Is there room there for me? I won't interrupt you."

"It's fine," Connor said. He started to turn so Hank would have room, but Hank patted his lap once he sat down and Connor obliged him, settling his legs over Hank's thighs. He made a small, pleased sound when Hank slipped a hand under the quilt and gave his calf a gentle squeeze.

"Keep reading, if you want," Hank said, when he saw Connor start to set his book down. "I think I want to just sit here with you for a bit. Keep you company. We can talk in a little while, okay?"

"Sure," Connor said. He held out a hand and Hank took it, bringing it to his lips before he settled their joined hands on Connor's thigh. "I'm nearly done, anyway."

"Take your time," Hank said, and let his thoughts drift for a few moments as he waited for Connor to finish. He could feel some of his residual tension ebbing away as he focused on the gentle weight of Connor's legs over his and the warmth of his hand. He wasn't looking forward to talking to Connor, not really (and they both knew he was stalling a little), but the longer he sat there, anchored by Connor's quiet, reassuring presence, the less he dreaded it. 

_ It needs to fucking happen _ , he thought.  _ May as well rip the damn band-aid off already. _

Finally, Connor turned the last page in his book and gently set it on the side table behind him. He hadn't let go of Hank's hand the entire time he finished reading, and now he held it in both his hands, one with fingers interlaced with Hank's and the other wrapped over top, long fingers delicately resting on Hank's wrist. 

Hank rubbed his thumb over Connor's knuckles as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Sweetheart," he said, "I'm sorry I got all weird on you and left this morning. I know that was a pretty lousy response to you asking about, you know. What you were asking about."

"It was unexpected," Connor said. His brow furrowed in concern. "I didn't intend to upset you."

"You didn't," Hank began, and at Connor's incredulous look he shook his head and forged ahead. "I was upset, sure. But it wasn't because of you. Not directly." He sighed. "I was mad at myself. I felt like such an asshole responding the way I did, but I didn't know what else to say. I'm not making excuses, I'm just..." Hank trailed off. 

"Can you explain why you were angry with yourself?" Connor asked gently. "I don't understand."

"Let's see," Hank said. He let go of Connor's hand and counted off on his fingers as he spoke. "First off, I made you doubt whether I enjoy having sex with you, which is as far from the truth as it gets. I didn't — I don't ever want you to doubt that."

"Second, it sounded so simple, I guess, when you asked why I didn't ask for what I wanted, or if sex had felt reciprocal with other people. It hasn't  _ felt _ that simple for a long time, though, and it's embarrassing to realize I'm so far up my own ass I can't look at you and talk about what I want. It made me think about how I'm bringing some shit into this thing between you and me that's not about us at all, but about other people I've been with and what they wanted. Or, Christ, what I thought they wanted. I don't even know if I was right, half the time."

"Fuck," Hank mumbled, leaning his head back against the back of the couch and staring at the ceiling. An old water stain from when the roof leaked a few years back drew his eye. He never patched or painted over it, just shrugged it off as something that didn't matter, but now it loomed in the corner like a reminder of every thing he'd ever ignored because he didn't feel like putting in the effort to face it. Didn't feel like he was worth putting that effort into himself, or his living situation.

It was easier to live in a mess than to decide he might deserve to live somewhere clean. Or with a gorgeous man who was patiently waiting for him to sort through his muddled thoughts.

"What I said earlier, about people wanting me for one kind of thing," Hank began. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, but he fumbled for Connor's hand again and felt comforted by the speed at which Connor slotted their fingers together. It was easier to talk if he wasn't looking at Connor, but he wanted to keep him close. "It wasn't just a feeling I got. There was a time when I used to ask partners if they wanted to switch things up a little, but no one ever seemed interested. Or they'd, you know, they'd say 'sure' when I asked but deflected the question if I ever brought it up again, so it was clear the real answer was 'no' but they didn't want to come out and say it."

"And when you keep getting a no like that, this backhanded squirrelly thing of someone not wanting the same thing you want but not bothering to fucking tell you straight up, it just." He sighed and slumped forward. "At some point, it feels humiliating to keep asking. Makes more sense to assume the 'no' is there by default."

"So you never brought up these desires with me," Connor said, "because you assumed I wouldn't be interested?"

Hank winced. It didn't sound great when Connor put it like that, did it? "I think I just figured, a long time ago, that no one would," he said. "Not you, specifically. Mostly I stopped thinking about it, until you asked."

"I asked," Connor said, quietly, "and you still haven't answered. Do you need more time?"

It was tempting, in a way, to say yes. The same shitty impulse that had driven him out of the house in the first place was still there, after all, as much as he wished it wasn't; Hank was so out of practice being vulnerable that even this short conversation had part of him wishing it was over. The part he was doing his best, now, to be better than.

"No, honey," he said. "I'm good. I already ran out on you once today, I'm not going anywhere. I don't need more time to know what I want."

Connor waited patiently, and when Hank glanced at him he saw the same sweet softness in his gaze he'd noticed earlier. Before, that gentleness had put his hackles up, made him feel even more embarrassed and mad at himself, but now it was a comfort. Connor'd been more patient with him than he had any right to expect. Certainly more than he deserved. "I want—of course I want it. What you're offering. Even if I don't quite know how to say it." 

He rubbed Connor's leg in slow circles, staring at the faded patterns in the old quilt as his hand slid across it. "I should have asked you more about what  _ you _ wanted a long time ago. I got so caught up in what I assumed you wanted from me, what I thought would feel best to you, that I didn't even step back and ask you if there was anything missing." He shrugged. "I don't feel great about that, to be honest, but I want to make up for it, if I can."

"Don't sell yourself short," Connor said. He swung his legs off of Hank's lap and settled closer to him on the couch, keeping the quilt draped neatly over both of their laps and leaning in to kiss and nuzzle his cheek. "I hope I've been clear that I've enjoyed sexual intimacy with you." He paused, lips parted, and the steady blue pulse of his LED fluttered for a moment. "You're a kind and generous lover, Hank, and I've never felt neglected, or that you haven't listened to me."

"Listening doesn't mean I was asking the right questions, though," Hank said. He turned and kissed Connor gently, relishing the soft sigh he breathed into Hank's mouth. "So, uh. Do you have something specific in mind? For me?"

"We've established that I want to eat your ass," Connor said smoothly, "so I don't suppose I need to remind you." He eyed the flush Hank could feel heating his cheeks, seeming to reconsider. "Or I could go into more detail, if you'd like."

"You could," Hank said. "Yeah." Connor was usually this blunt when he wanted to get Hank a little flustered, and it was working, even if he wasn't quite in the mood for Connor to dive into his ass right that minute.

"Should I tell you here," Connor asked, "or in the bedroom?" He set a palm on Hank's chest, close to but not quite touching a nipple. "I'm happy to provide a practical demonstration."

"Here's good, honey," Hank said. "My mind's been all over the place today; I want to be in a better place when we try any of this for real, but I'm happy to listen if you want to tell me about it. Let me know what I can look forward to." He searched Connor's face for any sign of disappointment, but he just nodded and patted Hank's chest reassuringly.

"I want you to feel ready," Connor said.

"It's not like I'm some—"  _ some blushing virgin _ , he stopped himself from saying, because that wasn't what Connor was trying to say at all. He cupped Connor's face in his hand and pulled him in until their foreheads touched.

"You're being a lot sweeter to me than I deserve, today," he said. "I'm sorry I'm like this, but. Thank you."

"This is difficult for you," Connor said. "Would you...would you let me take care of you, still? In a different way."

He'd never been good at that, in any context. But Connor wanted it, and Hank was finally starting to admit he wanted it too. He felt good around Connor, safe in a way he wasn't used to, and he thought maybe he could figure out how to let him in, a little more. Today had shown him that he desperately needed to get his shit together in this regard. He felt so raw, so scraped open and exposed, that he wasn't sure he was ready for anything else. 

_ Just stop it, and let him be sweet to you _ , he thought. 

"Sure," he said, hesitantly. "Okay. What do you—what should I do?"

Connor moved to the other end of the couch and patted his lap. "Lie down," he said.

Hank was glad, as he always was when he took an ill-advised afternoon nap on it, that he'd bought a couch long enough to mostly fit him when he was stretched out on it. It felt awkward, at first, to have his head in Connor's lap; had he done this before? He didn't think so. Once he settled into a comfortable position and Connor had his hand back on Hank's chest—not teasing this time, but a solid, reassuring weight—he could feel some of the residual tension deep in his gut start to unwind. 

He couldn't help his surprised groan when Connor combed his fingers through his hair, gently easing out the tangles the wind had woven into it as he dragged his fingertips across Hank's scalp. 

"How does that feel?" Connor asked, even though Hank was sure the answer was obvious. The point was to respond, to be honest about how he felt and not let either of them rest on assumptions. 

"Feels good," Hank said. "Fuck."

Connor coaxed Hank's head up long enough to gather up his hair so that when he eased it back down to his lap, it spread out across his thigh. He stroked his fingers through Hank's hair again, until he seemed satisfied that it was smooth and snarl-free, and then started to massage his scalp in earnest. 

Hank had gotten a haircut once at the sort of place that did this shit, ages and ages ago; he distantly remembered a no-nonsense stylist giving him a scalp massage while shampooing and rinsing his hair. It had felt good, he was pretty sure, but even if the memory had been fresher he was sure it couldn't compare to this. That had been a perfunctory part of a larger transaction; something the stylist did because it was part of her job. A completely neutral act. 

This was...this was certainly different. Connor wasn't trying to be efficient, wasn't trying to accomplish his task as quickly as possible. He alternated between gently scratching Hank's scalp and covering it with firm, circling pressure from his fingertips.  _ He just wants me to feel good _ , he thought. It was no more complicated than that. 

Hank floated in a bit of a haze for a few minutes. He tried to set aside the residual tension and frustration from that morning, the anger at himself for struggling to articulate his feelings, and instead focused only on how good it felt to have Connor touch him like this. 

He'd closed his eyes the moment Connor touched his hair; he wanted to sink into the feeling, block out as many potential distractions as possible. But when he felt Connor's delicate touch on his forehead, then tracing a soft curve to his temple and his cheek, he opened them again. Connor's fingertips paused next to his eye as they traveled that path again, although his other hand kept up its slow, steady strokes through his hair and against his scalp.

"Still good?" Connor asked, his voice soft and his smile impossibly tender. 

Hank had the sudden, baffling urge to cry. He held it back, though, swallowed the lump in his throat and managed a reply. "Still good," he echoed, although there was a thought scratching at the back of his mind that kept him from relaxing entirely. 

"Mm," Connor hummed in reply. "You just stay right there, then." His hand continued on its way, petting Hank's face in time with the gentle motions of the hand in his hair.

If Connor wanted him to stay put, he'd do it, but there was a restlessness in him, lying so still while Connor was taking his time to comfort him. He turned his head and leaned into Connor's hand to kiss his palm. "It feels selfish," he said. "Lying here while you do this."

Connor's hands stuttered briefly in their smooth motion before continuing as before. For a long moment there was no sound but Hank's blood roaring in his ears and the faint rasp of Connor's nails on his scalp. Hank didn't know if he should apologize, or explain himself further, or just shut the fuck up.

"Do you think," Connor asked, eventually, "that this is an entirely selfless act, on my part?" He sounded genuinely curious.

"I guess not," Hank said. "You wouldn't have told me to lie down if you didn't want me to, I just..." He kept his head turned to the side, staring at the back of the couch. Connor tucked his hair behind his ear, then rubbed his thumb along his temple and cheekbone. "I'm just lying here doing nothing and you're doing all this."

"How many times," Connor asked, with some frustration creeping into his voice, "have you given me a footrub while we've watched television together? Did you think me selfish, every time, for allowing you to do that for me? 

"No, of course not, but—"

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Huh?"

Connor tightened his fingers in Hank's hair just enough to pull gently. "When you massage my feet, Hank. Do you enjoy it?"

"Well, yeah. Sure I do." 

"Why? What do you like about it?"

"Where are you going with this?" It didn't seem fair, somehow, for Connor to draw a comparison between the two things. 

"Please, Hank."

Hank took a deep breath. Connor's hand relaxed and went back to combing through his hair, but he had an expectant look on his face as he waited for a reply. 

"Sometimes," Hank began, when he'd finally managed to string a handful of thoughts together, "I look at you and it's wild to think you're here with me and I can just...touch you, if I want to. I don't know that that'll ever get old. It's comforting to be touching you even if we're both doing our own thing, or focusing on something else. And, you know, your feet are cute and you always seem to enjoy it a lot, so it's not hard to find an excuse to do it. I get to touch you and hear the little sounds you make, and I know I'm doing something you like." It wasn't the time, Hank knew, to mention how often he'd wondered, during one of those massage sessions, what sounds Connor might make if he picked up Connor's foot and guided it to his mouth. Someday, maybe he'd bring it up. Not now.

"All right." Connor leaned over a bit and tapped Hank gently on his cheek until he looked up. "I heard three things, there. You enjoy having an excuse to touch me; casual physical contact and intimacy are important to you." It wasn't a question, but he waited until Hank nodded in agreement before continuing. "You find my feet attractive; let's extend this to say that you find me physically attractive in general, yes?"

"Of course I do," Hank said, worried for a moment that this was at all in question, but Connor continued before he could scramble to say anything else.

"And you obtain pleasure from the act of doing something pleasurable for me." He didn't even wait for Hank to confirm it, this time, before barrelling ahead. "Why are you so certain that I don't feel any of that for you?"

Hank was stunned into silence.

"Why do you think I'd ask you to be close to me in this manner, if I didn't want you here? How could I touch you like this and see your body respond without deriving enjoyment from it?" He cupped Hank's cheek. "I don't understand why you think this would be a hardship for me."

And that was at the root of it, wasn't it? That was what was underneath this whole damn mess.

"I—shit." Hank took a deep breath, then another. Tried to focus on the feeling of Connor's hands touching him so gently, surely with more care and tenderness than anyone had since he was a child. Connor wasn't touching him like he was a child, though, wasn't condescending to him, he just touched him like— 

His breath hitched and stuttered in his chest, and Connor settled a palm back over his sternum. A warm, soft weight.

Like he was precious. Worth caring for. 

"I'm not," he started, and had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, focus on controlling himself. If Connor was a little blurry when he opened them again, he could pretend otherwise. "I'm not used to being treated like I—like this. You wanting any of this, it's." He took Connor's hand from his chest and brought it to his mouth. "I don't mean to doubt you. It's just hard to wrap my mind around, you know? That you feel this way." He kissed Connor's palm, his knuckles, the tips of his fingers.

"I want to show you," Connor said. "I'm trying to." He dragged the pad of his thumb over Hank's lower lip and smiled when he kissed it again. "I can't do it if you won't let me."

"Okay," Hank said. "Okay." He blinked again, and gave up trying to hide what was happening when Connor brushed the tears from the corner of his eyes.

"Close your eyes," Connor said. He shifted slightly and repositioned Hank's head on his lap. "Let me take care of you, love." He smoothed his hands down the side of Hank's face again, delicately wiping his eyes once more before sliding them down his chest and back to his scalp. 

Whatever resistance Hank had felt was wearing away, eroding under the pressure and smooth motion of Connor's hands in his hair, brushing over his collarbone, tracing the shell of his ear. "You're so handsome," Connor murmured, and "I love how your body feels in my hands," and "don't think about anything but how good this feels."

And Hank couldn't help but comply. He sniffled occasionally, for a couple minutes, but the full waterworks didn't turn on, thank Christ. He'd always been a little weepy, in emotional moments, and always embarrassed about it, too. But Connor didn't seem to mind, and maybe neither did he, not really. Maybe it felt good, in a way.

Connor's endearments faded away, eventually; he could hear his voice, but as he dropped deeper into relaxation, the specific shape of the sounds was harder to make out. He was aware of the sweet, low murmur of Connor's voice, his hands in his hair, the soft quilt still draped over his legs. Then he was aware of just the abstract sensations of warmth and comfort, of being cared for, before he slipped into sleep.

The next thing Hank was aware of was a gentle bump against his hip, followed by a soft, disapproving hiss from Connor. "It's all right," he said sleepily. "I'm awake." Not wanting to get up quite yet, he turned on his side and reached out a hand to scratch behind Sumo's ears before he could bump him with his snout again. "Hey, buddy, are you my alarm clock?"

"I didn't want him to wake you," Connor said, "but I couldn't distract him without doing something that would disturb your sleep." 

"I probably needed to get up anyway," Hank said, still a little groggy from his unexpected nap. "Fuck, what time is it? You could tell me I slept for one hour or five and I'd believe you." It was still light out, so he couldn't have been asleep for too long, at least.

"You were asleep for an hour and twenty-four minutes."

"And you just sat there the whole time, watching me? That didn't get old?"

"I didn't just watch you," Connor said, sounding almost offended. "I also monitored your vital signs and the phases of sleep as you progressed through them."

"That's still watching me," Hank huffed, although he didn't mind. It had long ago stopped being creepy when Connor watched him so intently; that was just Connor being Connor.

"Anyway," Connor continued. "It didn't get old." He leaned down and kissed Hank's forehead. "It was nice to see you relax."

"Guess I needed it," Hank said, sitting upright on the couch. "It was my fault I got so worked up in the first place, though. Christ." He wrapped an arm around Connor's shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. "Thank you, sweetheart. Thanks for taking care of me."

"Any time," Connor said. 

Hank wanted to say more, wanted to thank him more profusely or maybe just kiss him again, but Sumo whined and pawed at his leg before he could continue. "Shit, that's his 'seriously, let me out before I piss on the rug' signal," he said, hauling himself to his feet.

"I can take care of it," Connor offered, but Hank waved him away. 

"Nah, moving around a bit will help me wake up."

"I'll come with you," Connor said resolutely, and Hank just shrugged and clapped his hands to get Sumo to follow him to the back door.

"Suit yourself," he said with a smile. He could understand Connor wanting to stick a little closer to him, after the events of the day. He certainly didn't mind.

"You want to talk about that mystery you just finished?" Hank asked, as they stepped outside and Sumo made a beeline for his favorite bush. Hank wasn't as much of a reader as he used to be; depression had made it harder to focus on a book for any length of time, but he enjoyed discussing books with Connor, especially as he made his way through Hank's paperback collection. 

It was an attempt to take the tone of the day's conversations in a different direction; Hank figured they could both use something light and low-stress to discuss after the heaviness of the last few hours. He knew he'd have to mull over some of what they'd discussed later, when he had more time to himself, but for now he was happy to set it aside and at least be content with the fact that they'd talked about it at all. He was just glad Connor had been so patient with him. So sweet. 

His scalp tingled with the memory of how good Connor's hands had felt in his hair.  _ And if his hands felt good, _ he thought,  _ what will his mouth feel like when you let him do what he wants to you?  _

* * *

It turned out that the more he thought about it, over the next couple days, the less he wanted to wait to find out. Hank was still wrestling, a bit, with everything they'd discussed, but given some additional time to let it soak in, he found his hesitation slipping farther and farther away. The fact that Connor not only wanted to explore the sort of things Hank had entirely given up on asking a partner for, but maybe felt that the rest of their sex life had been lacking without that exploration, meant Hank would be a fool not to take him up on what he was offering. Maybe he'd even take the initiative himself. Connor was giving him some space to think things through, he knew, but he didn't want to take that space and spin it out into more distance between them.

He wanted to make an effort, to show Connor he wasn't going to leave this all in his hands and wait for him to pick up the thread of what they'd discussed already. Connor had been brave enough to ask Hank for something he wanted, had been patient enough to deal with what Hank could now admit, at least privately, was a bit of a whiny toddler tantrum, and had demonstrated how genuine his desire to...fuck, to  _ take care of _ Hank was. 

It felt like a desire he wasn't worthy of, but since it was what Connor wanted, and what  _ Hank _ was finally ready to admit he wanted, maybe he'd pretend he could be worthy of it long enough to experience it. Long enough to find out what else Connor had in mind.

It wasn't hard to clue Connor in when he was in the mood. Connor responded beautifully to even casual touch (Hank had learned, early in their relationship, that he had to be careful not to touch the back of his neck or his bare forearms at work), to Hank crowding in his space at home, to Hank patting his broad thighs as a reminder that his lap was there to be sat on.

They'd stopped for a few groceries on the way home from work, and as usual Connor had scooped up the bags in the back seat before Hank could grab any, despite his protests. Hank opened the door for him, at least, and let Sumo out in the yard to do his business, before sidling up behind Connor as he unloaded cans and boxes of cereal into the cupboards beside the sink. 

"Hi, sweetheart," Hank murmured, as he slid his arms around Connor's waist and crowded him close to the countertop. "What do you say we leave all that for later?" He kissed the back of Connor's neck and grinned at the full-body shiver that ensued. "You never finished telling me all those things you wanted to do to me, did you?"

"I didn't," Connor said. He stacked another can of tomatoes in the cupboard, but Hank kissed his neck again and his hands clutched the edge of the counter instead of reaching for more groceries. He leaned back against Hank's chest. "Would you like me to?"

"Not really," Hank said. "How about you just show me?"

"You don't want to discuss it first?"

"Honestly, no," Hank said. "I trust you, and I don't—I don't want to be caught up in anticipating anything or second-guessing myself." He leaned forward, nuzzling against Connor's cheek. "Maybe I'm a little impatient, too." 

Connor turned in Hank's arms and rested his hands on his chest as he leaned back against the counter. "As long as you can take direction," he said with a wink, "I'm happy with that. And you'll tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable, or if you need to stop."

Hank nodded. "I think I'm gonna be a little uncomfortable just from the newness of it all," he admitted, "but I can tell nerves from something I don't like. And I'll let you know."

"Would you feel more comfortable with a safeword?"

"Nah," Hank said. "I say stop, you'll stop, yeah?"

Connor smiled. He'd started to trace small, slow circles on Hank's chest with his fingertips and it was becoming distracting. "Of course I will. And my only goal, Hank, is for you to feel pleasure. For you to let me focus on giving it to you."

"Sure, so, uh." Hank's throat was suddenly dry. "I don't see a need for a safeword or anything."

"Can I make a request?"

"Ball's in your court, boss," Hank said. "You can do what you want with me."

Connor's still-moving fingers grazed over Hank's nipple, and he grinned when Hank's breath hitched a little. "I like hearing you say that," he admitted. "Perhaps more than I should."

Hank bent his head down and murmured in Connor's ear, close enough that his lips brushed against the helix. "What, that you can do what you want with me? That I—" his tongue tripped over the unfamiliar words. They were difficult to say, despite the strength of his desire, despite knowing that Connor's desire was just as intense. He wasn't risking being rejected or laughed at. He licked his lips and tried again.

"That you're in charge tonight, sweetheart. I want you to take me to bed." 

Connor's finger flicked over his nipple again. "Why don't you take a nice hot shower? I'll finish putting all this away and meet you in the bedroom afterwards."

"Guess that makes sense," Hank said, with a grimace. A human body was a bit inconvenient when it came down to the finer details of ass-eating, he supposed.

"For your comfort, not mine," Connor replied, gently. "I'm not concerned about your hygiene, but I don't want you distracted by self-consciousness."

"When am I naked and not self-conscious?" Hank asked. He hadn't meant it to come out sharply, but there was an edge to his comment he couldn't wave away as a joke.

Connor regarded him seriously. "I hope you can feel as attractive as I find you, some day," he said. "Let me show you, tonight. How much I desire you." His hands slid down Hank's chest and along his sides until he had one on the small of his back and the other settled on the swell of his ass.

Heat bloomed in Hank's cheeks and prickled down his neck. "I think I know already," he protested, but Connor shook his head.

"You have no idea, do you? What you do to me." Connor firmly patted Hank's upper thigh, not quite a slap but more than a gentle nudge. "Get in the shower, so I can show you."

"Christ, you're so bossy already," Hank grumbled, but he kissed Connor's cheek tenderly before stepping away from where he'd pressed him against the counter.

"Just giving direction," Connor said calmly, "which you've already agreed to take." 

"I'm taking it," Hank called over his shoulder. He was glad, for a moment, that he was facing away from Connor so he couldn't see how Hank's flush deepened just saying those words; knowing Connor, though, he was probably monitoring his heartrate or something and would know anyway. 

"Fuck me, what am I doing?" Hank muttered to himself, as he held his hand under the shower spray and waited for the water heater to kick on. He'd tried to sound so confident, a moment ago, but alone in the shower, with only his nerves to keep him company, it was easier to let old doubts creep in.  _ Calm down, _ he thought, over and over, as he scrubbed himself as thoroughly as possible. He wasn't headed towards anything he didn't want, anything  _ Connor _ didn't want—which, despite everything, still felt like the easier justification to go through with it—so why not let himself get some enjoyment out of it? 

He felt more at ease with the entire situation than he had before, at least. Still, he could feel himself stalling and turned the water off before he could come up with an excuse to stay in the shower longer; he wasn't going to get any  _ more _ clean, at this point. 

Connor was waiting for him in the bedroom, half-reclined on the pillows he'd piled together at the head of the bed. He'd removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt nearly halfway, so that a splash of freckles was just visible beneath the parted fabric. He was gorgeous, of course, because he always was, but the intensity of his gaze and the knowledge of what Connor wanted, what he was planning, made it impossible for Hank to look away. Arousal flared to life in his chest, burning away the worst of his nervous anticipation. 

"Hey, handsome," Connor murmured. He patted the bed next to him. "You want to drop that towel and come give me a kiss?"

"Nothin' I'd like more," Hank drawled. Connor watched him hungrily as he untucked the towel and let it fall to the floor, and he barely waited until Hank sat down and swung his feet up onto the bed before grabbing his shoulder and pulling him down next to him. 

Hank was used to kissing Connor, of course. Connor rarely seemed to get enough of it, once he got in the mood, and if Hank kissed him long enough he could usually coax an orgasm or two out of him just from that, just from flooding his oral sensors with stimuli and sensation. Hank had always enjoyed kissing, himself, but there was nothing like making his partner come from his tongue in his mouth to make him love it even more. It was never boring, never felt like a necessary but uninteresting stop on the way to something else, but they'd spent enough time making out that it certainly felt familiar, even after just a few months.

The way Connor kissed Hank now, as he pulled him close to his very much still-clothed body and rolled halfway on top of him, was a bit different. Familiar, certainly, but not quite the same; instead of sighing and opening for him, coaxing Hank's tongue into his mouth, Connor sucked Hank's lower lip, fisting his hand in Hank's hair and holding him still as he licked into his mouth.

Hank grunted in surprise; usually Connor liked to warm up a bit, trading softer, sweet kisses before deepening them, but this was filthy right off the bat. Hank wasn't entirely pinned in place, but Connor's hand in his hair was clearly meant to keep him in a particular position, and he couldn't think of a good reason to fight against it. He moaned into Connor's mouth and then into the absence of him, when he pulled away and Hank's head was too restrained to follow.

"That's what I want to hear," Connor said, his lips just an inch away from Hank's. He turned Hank's head, baring his neck, and licked a hot, wet stripe from his shoulder to his hairline. "Don't stay quiet, Hank. If you feel good, I want you to let me know."

"Fuck," Hank said. "It's good already, of course it's good." He was half-hard already, and the wildness in Connor's kisses and the faintly coarse drag of his trousers against his cock where his thigh was slotted between Hank's was speeding it on the way to a full erection. Sometimes it took Hank's dick a couple minutes to get started even when he was in the mood for sex, although since he'd been drinking less it had become less of an issue; today it seemed to be no problem at all. His nerves were swiftly receding in the face of Connor's attention.

"I'm glad to hear it," Connor purred. "You know I appreciate both sincere praise and constructive feedback when tackling a new set of directives, so feel free to provide either one as the opportunity arises."

"Shouldn't this technical bullshit turn me off?" Hank asked, in between kisses. 

"Perhaps," Connor said, "but it doesn't." He pressed his thigh more insistently into Hank's erection. "Does it?"

"No," Hank admitted, more aware than he usually was that Connor could read his vitals whenever he wanted, that there was no way to hide his reactions from him. There was no sense in lying about it. Besides, Connor's occasional overly-formal language had stopped being annoying long ago; even in bed it was more endearing than anything. It didn't make him want him any less.

Connor took Hank's hand and lifted it to his mouth, sucking the first two fingers in until the folded knuckles of Hank's ring finger bumped against his chin. Hank moaned as Connor sucked, sliding his fingers slowly out and in again; he was a little surprised, every time, by just how warm and wet and  _ slick _ Connor's mouth was. His artificial saliva was closer to lube than to spit, in texture, and he was able to produce so much of it when he wanted to. 

He thought of the last time he'd fucked Connor's mouth and how wet the slick slide of his tongue had felt, how obscene the sound had been, how Connor had looked with a trickle of his saliva escaping the corner of his mouth where it was stretched wide around Hank's cock. His two fingers were smaller, of course, but Connor looked just as blissed-out now, sucking them down as far as he could, as he usually did while giving Hank a blowjob.

"You love to get your mouth on me, don't you?" Hank asked. He'd never been with someone who was so interested in having his fingers in their mouth—who was interested in having  _ anything _ in their mouth the way Connor was—but Connor couldn't seem to get enough of it, when he was in a certain mood.

Connor dropped Hank's hand and bent down to kiss him again, rolling over top to straddle his hips as he did so. His firm grip in Hank's hair kept him still as he situated himself. "There isn't anywhere," Connor said, licking messily into Hank's mouth, "I don't want to taste you." He kissed his way down Hank's neck and along his shoulder. And, fuck, that was the whole point of this exercise, wasn't it? Connor had wanted to eat him out, wanted enough that he'd asked in the first place. 

Hank could feel, already, a restlessness building in his chest; shouldn't he be more actively touching Connor in return? Kissing the back of his neck where he was guaranteed to moan and sigh so beautifully? Undressing him so that he could be admired in the way Hank knew Connor was sometimes embarrassed to admit he wanted? Even with Connor straddling his thighs to hold him still, even with Connor's hand in his hair guiding him where he wanted him and nowhere else, he felt like he needed to do  _ something _ .

He grabbed Connor's hips, squeezing gently and sliding a hand under the hem of Connor's shirt to settle on the small of his back. "You want to take all this off, baby?" Hank asked, slipping a finger beneath the waistband of his trousers. He fingered the button while he rubbed slow circles into Connor's back with his other hand. 

"Not yet," Connor murmured. He nudged Hank's hand away and pressed it to the bed next to his head. "You're thinking too hard, aren't you?"

Hank couldn't deny it, but the urge was still there to protest. "I just—" he began, but Connor bit down hard on his shoulder, shocking a grunt out of him as Connor sucked what was sure to be a dark bruise into his skin. 

"Oh,  _ fuck _ ," Hank moaned, "what—what are you doing?" His shoulder throbbed, and as the sharp moment of surprise faded into an ache of pleasure, he felt an answering throbbing ache in his cock, now almost painfully hard. 

"Here, Hank," Connor said. He took his hand from Hank's hair and pressed it to the place he'd just bitten him, pinning his shoulder to the bed. "Do you feel that?"

Hank nodded; it was impossible to ignore the deep soreness beneath Connor's hand. Connor's eyes were wide, almost wild in their intensity, and Hank was acutely aware of the strength behind that hand on his shoulder, and how completely Connor could hold him down if he had a mind to do so. The arousal humming beneath his skin sparked at the thought of it.

"That's what I want from you. I don't want you here," he said, tapping Hank's temple with his free hand. "I want you here." He dug his thumb into the bite, hard enough to make Hank moan again. "And here," he continued, resting his hand on Hank's chest. He licked a fingertip, not breaking eye contact, and rubbed it over a nipple.

"I want to make you feel so good you can't think about anything else."

And what Connor wanted, Connor got, apparently; any thoughts of guilt or worry that he wasn't doing enough to reciprocate, or being enough of an active participant, fled in the wake of Connor's intensity. 

He kept one hand holding Hank in some way, whether anchored in his hair or pressed flat against his sternum or once, in a move that made Hank's cock throb and twitch against his thigh and pulled a desperate whine from his throat, pinning one of his wrists to the bed beside the pillow. His other hand played with Hank's sensitive nipples, stroked down his sides, and, as Connor's attention slowly progressed further down Hank's body, kneaded at his hips and thighs.

The first bite to his shoulder had been the sharpest, but Connor wasn't satisfied with just the one; in between soft, messy kisses, he nipped and sucked more deep, bruising marks into Hank's shoulder and chest, each bite pulling Hank's awareness firmly into his body, into the present moment. Into the pleasure Connor was so set on giving him.

"God, I'm going to be covered in marks tomorrow," he groaned, as Connor bit gently into the softness of his chest, just below his left nipple.

"You are," Connor agreed. He licked the spot he'd just bitten, swiping his tongue over the darkening bruise before sucking Hank's nipple into his mouth. "Do you like the thought of that?"

"Yeah, I—oh fuck, Connor," Hank groaned, as Connor wrapped his hand around Hank's straining cock and gave him a slow, teasing stroke. "Fuck me, baby, that's—" he trailed off into a low, rumbling moan.

"What was that, Hank?" Connor asked. He knelt over Hank, straddling his thigh, and leaned down to kiss his neck, just below his ear. His hand kept up its steady pace, tormentingly slow, on his cock. "I didn't quite catch that. Do you like the thought of me leaving so many marks on you?"

"Yes," Hank said. "As many as you want." He rocked up into Connor's hand and turned his head to the side, baring his neck.

Connor sighed happily, a soft hum in the back of his throat, as he bent down to lick the sweat from Hank's neck. "People might see, if I do it here," he murmured.

"I don't care." Hank cradled the back of Connor's head and pulled him close. "Let 'em look."

That was all it took, apparently; Connor licked him again and then trailed a series of sharp, toothy kisses from his jawline to his collarbone. "They'll see that someone's taking care of you," he said, speeding up the hand on Hank's cock just a bit. "They'll know I can't resist you."

Hank could only moan in response, thrusting up into the firm, smooth grip of Connor's hand. 

"Do you know how hard it was," Connor asked, kissing his way down Hank's chest and belly until his mouth was tantalizingly close to where his hand was still working over Hank's cock, "to keep my hands to myself, when I first understood that I wanted to touch you? I'd imagine my hands all over your body. My mouth following in the wake of my fingertips." He let go of Hank's cock and placed his hands on Hank's hips, squeezing gently and sliding up Hank's sides, over the gentle swell of his love handles and up his ribs, groping at his chest before returning them to his hips. "Every inch of you is appealing."

And fuck, Hank  _ felt _ appealing, just a bit; how could he not, with the way Connor was looking at him? "Every inch, huh?" He asked, shifting his hips to angle his cock closer to Connor's mouth. "You don't have to keep your hands or your mouth to yourself, now."

"I don't plan on it," Connor said. He cradled Hank's cock in one hand while licking a slow, messy stripe up the underside, pausing when he reached the tip to make sure Hank was still watching.

Of course he was still watching.

Connor sighed with pleasure as he took the head of Hank's cock into his mouth, curling his tongue to caress it as he sucked. He stayed there for a moment, teasing Hank with gentle suction before sinking down slowly, taking in the rest of him inch by inch.

He'd done it many times, of course, but every time Connor got his mouth on him, Hank marveled at how incredible it felt. His hot, slick mouth felt like it had been made to suck him off, and Connor certainly moaned around his cock enough that it was clear he enjoyed it as much as Hank did, if not more. It made it even hotter to know Connor had his dick in his mouth because he wanted it there, not because he thought Hank expected it.

"Fuck, I can't wait to do this to you," Hank said, a little breathier than he intended. "You gonna let me suck you off once you get your new parts installed?"

Connor let Hank's cock slide from his mouth and pressed a wet kiss just below his navel. "If you want to, of course."

"I'm going to want to drop to my knees the moment you walk in the door, you know that," Hank said. "Haven't had a dick in my mouth in years, and if it's yours it'll be the best one I've had."

Connor looked pleased at that. "I'd love for you to," he said. "The moment I walk in the door, you said?"

"Sure, I—nnngghh," Hank moaned, as Connor sucked Hank back into his warm mouth again. "Fuck, honey, you're so good at this. Don't want to rush you into anything, but just say the word and I'll—oh Christ..." he trailed off as Connor sunk down far enough for the head of Hank's cock to brush against his soft palate, nudging into his throat.

Connor could keep going, Hank knew, and he'd go off like a shot before too long; blowjobs had always been an easy way to get Hank off. Hank had the brief urge to let it happen. No harm no foul, right? What was wrong with sex they both enjoyed?

What was wrong, Hank knew, was ducking out when the point was for him to let himself soak up Connor's attention in bed, trying to cut and run before he really started to feel vulnerable. The impulse was there, sure, but the stronger one was to leave things in Connor's hands. To trust him. To try and let go of the last shreds of resistance to this whole endeavor that he'd still been holding onto.

"Ease up a bit there, tiger," Hank said, reaching for Connor's hand where it was resting on his thigh and giving it a squeeze. "You keep going like that and I'll come before you're ready for me."

"I do have other plans for you, it's true," Connor said, once he'd given Hank's cock a sloppy parting kiss. "Maybe it's time I got to them."

"You need me to, uh, turn over or anything?" Hank couldn't help but feel ridiculous in advance, at the thought of himself face down and ass up on the bed, but he wanted to go along with whatever Connor had in mind. He wanted to leave things in his hands, for now.

"I'd appreciate the view, I'm sure," Connor said, slipping a hand under the curve of Hank's ass and giving one cheek a squeeze. "But I suspect it'll be easier on your knees, as well as easier for me to watch you enjoying yourself, if you stay where you are; give me one moment to get you set up."

"Set up" meant, apparently, that Connor had already nabbed a small towel from the hall closet and chosen a pillow of an appropriate firmness to drape it over; after instructing Hank to lift his hips he slid it underneath, so that his ass and lower back were propped up at a slight angle. Hank had been tempted to grumble about how his knees were just  _ fine _ , thank you very much, but he had to admit this was probably better.

"Is that comfortable?" Connor asked, fussing at the edges of the towel to flatten out an errant crease. "How are you feeling?"

"Just peachy," he said, but as Connor settled back between his legs, smoothing his hands up and down his thighs, he realized how much more exposed he was in this position, especially in comparison to Connor, who had yet to remove any more of his clothing. "Like my ass is in your face, I guess."

"It is," Connor said. "Not as much as it will be in a moment, though." He turned and kissed Hank's right thigh. "Do you want to put this on my shoulder?

A new wave of arousal rose up Hank's spine, leaving him almost dizzy in its wake. He'd asked plenty of people to do that to him, propped their legs up on his broad shoulders without a second thought, but hadn't ever thought about it from this end. 

"Think you can hold me?" he asked, knowing without a doubt that Connor could. Connor just winked and tapped the underside of his thigh, a firmer suggestion.

"I want to spread you open," Connor said, almost conversationally, as if it wasn't the hottest fucking thing Hank had heard out of his mouth so far that night. "Let me see you, Hank."

"Jesus," Hank muttered, but he lifted his leg, resting it on Connor's shoulder, and tried to relax, despite how vulnerable he suddenly felt. 

"You're so handsome," Connor said, and though Hank had heard those words from Connor many times in the past few months, he didn't think he'd ever heard them spoken so reverently before. Like staring at Hank's taint was a religious experience. 

"I love you like this," Connor continued. He nuzzled the thigh propped next to his face, then turned to kiss it, mouthing messily at the soft skin. "Laid out for me to enjoy. You don't need to do anything at all, other than let me help you feel good. And maybe tell me how it feels." He leaned in, grazing his lips over Hank's cock as he settled between Hank's thighs.

Hank pressed a hand over his eyes, as if hiding his face could shield him from feeling so exposed. His thigh tensed against Connor's shoulder as he fought the urge to roll away; instead, he took a deep breath and used the weight of his leg to pull Connor in closer.

"You're quite hairy here," Connor observed, as he palmed one of Hank's asscheeks and gently spread him open just a bit more. Hank wasn't sure whether to protest or not, or which of these things ranked more important on the protest scale, but in the end it didn't matter, because Connor did two things: he said "it's very attractive," breath so hot and close Hank felt the ghost of it surprisingly close to his skin, and then he closed that distance completely and gave Hank's hole a brief, wet lick. It was just a hint of contact, only a taste of what Connor had in store for him, but even so Hank moaned and struggled not to pull back. 

"Oh," Connor said. "Is it that good?"

"Yeah," Hank breathed. "Fuck, Connor." That urge to pull away, to fold his legs up and present less of himself to Connor, hadn't gone away, but he did his best to set it aside, to focus on how Connor was making him feel.  _ "I want to make you feel so good you can't think about anything else,"  _ he'd said, and Hank was most of the way there; if he let himself sink into the sensation fully, he'd be right where Connor wanted him. Where Hank himself had wanted to be, for longer than he'd let himself admit it.

Hank heard the soft, wet sound of a finger sliding out of Connor's mouth and then his thumb, slicked by his saliva, pressed gently behind his balls and slid back, back, until it brushed over where Connor's mouth had been, a moment before. "That—oh, that's good too," he said, shakily. It had been a long time since he'd touched himself there; he hardly remembered what it felt like.

"Hmm, I'm glad," Connor said. He kissed Hank's thighs, looking up often to check Hank's reactions as he swept his thumb over and past his entrance in light strokes. "Has anyone been inside you?"

"No one," Hank grunted. "Fuck. Just—just me."

"Your hands?" Connor asked, sliding his thumb in small circles. Just a hint of pressure, not enough to slip inside, but enough for Hank to feel the intention behind it. Just a tease. "Or something else?" He licked his thumb again, got it slicker, and resumed the slow circling press against Hank's hole.

_ If I asked, _ Hank thought, with a dizzying jolt of anticipation,  _ he'd slip it right inside.  _ "Never bought a toy or anything," he panted. "Used my fingers a few times. Not for—oh Christ, Connor—not for a long time, though."

"Give me your hand," Connor said, and when he took it in his own he brought it not to his lips, as Hank had expected he might do, but down to the curve of his ass under the leg propped up on Connor's shoulder. "Can you hold yourself open for me?"

Hank moaned and nodded, unsure of how else to respond; he gripped himself where Connor had positioned his hand and as he tightened his grip and pulled gently to the side, exposing more of himself to Connor's hungry gaze, he felt Connor do the same to the other cheek. 

Hank had never felt more naked in his life.

"Remember," Connor murmured, tongue sneaking out to lick just above where his thumb was still circling, "all you need to do is feel good. Let yourself enjoy it, and let me hear you." Then he moved his thumb away, replaced it with his mouth, and Hank no longer worried about how exposed he felt.

Connor started with long, broad swipes of his tongue, easing Hank into the sensation. His tongue was smoother than a human's, slightly more flexible, and so fucking wet Hank was glad Connor'd had the foresight to put the towel down. "Fuck, that's—" he trailed off into a low moan as Connor fluttered his tongue over his hole, teasing at the entrance before moving away to lick around it again. Connor was moaning too, soft sighs of arousal that increased with every clench of Hank's thighs around him. 

"You like this, huh?" Hank asked, and Connor hummed and squeezed Hank's ass in agreement as he teased the tip of his tongue against Hank's entrance. "Oh shit, you're—you're so good to me," he moaned, rocking his hips to try and push back against Connor's tongue.

Connor made another pleased sound at this and grabbed Hank's other thigh, hauling it up until it too rested on one of Connor's shoulders. He leaned forward, pressing Hank's thighs back and tilting his hips until he was supporting more of Hank's weight.

Hank felt desperately off-balance for a moment. As he was, ass propped up, nearly bent in half, most of his lower body weight on Connor's shoulders, the reality of the situation finally fell on him. He wasn't in control. He could say stop, of course, he could have Connor put him down, but he didn't want to. He wanted to lean into this feeling. He wanted everything Connor was willing to give him, and he was starting to understand just how much Connor had to give.

Connor had taken a moment to let Hank adjust to the new position, but soon he resumed lavishing attention on his ass; the moment Hank felt the press of his tongue again, slick and soft, he relaxed into the solidity of Connor's shoulders and allowed his legs to be folded back just a bit farther, to give Connor better access.  _ He can hold me, _ he thought.  _ He's more than strong enough. _ He focused on breathing, on holding himself open the way Connor had asked, on keeping his attention in his body, where Connor wanted him, and not tangled in his thoughts.

Connor kissed and licked over his hole more deliberately, pressing again and again with the tip of his tongue until he'd loosened Hank up enough to let him in; as he licked inside Hank, fucking him shallowly with quick thrusts of his tongue, Hank gasped and nearly shouted in surprise. He was utterly lost at this point; any worry about being too needy or too passive or too vulnerable had melted away in the face of the pleasure he felt. 

He no longer felt self-conscious about being so exposed; instead, he was on display, where Connor had chosen to place him. He hooked his knee more deliberately against Connor's back, pulling him in closer, thighs flexing around Connor's head and shoulders. "Oh god," he groaned. "Yes, yes, please."

Everything else faded from his thoughts but the wet, filthy sounds of Connor's mouth and the pleasure radiating from where his tongue was working within him. His cock was hard, dripping and smearing against his thigh and stomach as he rocked up into Connor's mouth, but while his arousal was a hot, constant pulse, he didn't touch himself to soothe the ache; he didn't want any other sensations distracting him from the wet heat of Connor's mouth.

Except...

"Could you," he said, so quiet he almost hoped Connor wouldn't hear, but he got a questioning noise in response, and after a long parting lick Connor paused long enough to peer up at him. 

"What is it, Hank? Anything."

"Your—" he swallowed. "Your fingers, too. Please."

A wide, sly smile spread across Connor's face. "Of course. I'll give you what you need."

"I know you will," he groaned. "Fuck, I know." He closed his eyes and let out a slow, shuddering breath as Connor slicked up a finger in his mouth and rubbed it over his entrance. "Oh god," he said, as Connor gently pressed inside him. "No one's ever—" 

But he'd said that already, hadn't he? Connor knew. 

"Relax, baby," Connor said, and Hank let out a wild, high whine as Connor sunk his finger in, deeper than Hank could ever reach inside himself, then started a slow, smooth glide in and out while he pressed messy kisses to the place where their bodies were joined. "How's that feel?"

"Oh," Hank moaned, and he was glad Connor seemed to accept that as an answer. "You're—Con—" he covered his eyes with his forearm and pushed up against him, unsure of exactly what he wanted but craving some nebulous  _ more _ . "Can you—I think I want another."

"You think so?"

Hank cried out as Connor's finger slid out of him, his body clenching against the sudden feeling of emptiness. "Please!" 

"Look at me, Hank." 

He felt a gentle tug at his hand, and let Connor pull his arm away from his face. 

"I want you to watch me." 

Hank nodded, transfixed, as Connor sucked his first two fingers into his mouth and pulled them out dripping wet. He sighed, a low rumble of an exhale, as Connor worked his fingers inside, eyes on Hank's face the entire time. He wanted to close his eyes, sink into the pillow and into the sensation of being filled and stretched so lovingly, but he did his best to meet the tenderness in Connor's eyes and not hide from it. It was overwhelming, all of it—his sweet gaze, his long fingers, the ongoing ache and heat of arousal that thrummed through his entire body—but it was what he'd wanted. 

"You're so good," Connor said. "Opening so sweetly for me. Asking for more when you needed it." He bottomed out, knuckles nudging against Hank's ass, and licked around the base of his fingers; the combined sensations of fullness and pressure and teasing slickness made Hank's thighs twitch and clench around Connor's shoulders. "Beautiful." Connor slid his fingers nearly all the way out and eased them back in, setting a slow, steady pace.

"I love hearing you ask for what you want," Connor murmured, raising his head to meet Hank's gaze again. He changed the angle of his hand, and on the next gentle thrust Hank stifled a shout when Connor's fingertips grazed over his prostate. "I want to give you everything. As much pleasure as you can handle." He hit the same spot again and again, sending deep shocks of sensation up Hank's spine with every precise press of his fingertips over his prostate.

Hank drifted a bit, panting and groaning as waves of pleasure crashed over him.  _ How could I have forgotten that I wanted this? _ he thought, as he moaned and pressed up against the heat of Connor's mouth.  _ How could I have denied it? _

"Do you want to come?" Connor asked.

Hank had hardly thought about it as an option; he'd left himself in Connor's hands, and had been trying to focus on immersing himself in the pleasure of the moment, but once the question was asked, the need for release roared to life inside him. "Fuck, yes," he panted. "I—I'm close, I think." 

"You've been so good, baby," Connor said. "Do you want to touch yourself for me?"

"Yeah," Hank said. He shuddered as he wrapped his hand around his aching cock,  _ baby _ echoing in his mind in Connor's voice. He felt so good, so  _ loved _ , and so eager to come; he cursed and moaned as he strokes grew faster, until—

"Slowly," Connor murmured, nipping Hank's thigh to get his attention. "Slowly. I want to watch you, first. Match me." He exaggerated the pace of his fingers as they thrust into Hank, and smiled as Hank groaned and slowed his pace to match.

Connor kissed Hank's hole, lapping at the rim and teasing his tongue in alongside his fingers, and the saliva that dripped from his mouth smoothed their motion as he started to thrust more quickly, more sharply, into him. 

Not roughly, Hank thought idly, with what scraps of his focus he could pull from the overwhelming rush of pleasure, but  _ firmly _ . Purposefully.

The purpose was clear; each thrust made contact with Hank's prostate, and each brush against it pushed Hank closer and closer to release.

"Please," Hank gasped. Connor hadn't told him not to come, hadn't said he could, either, and, Hank wanted to hear it. Needed Connor to tell him to. "Can I—I'm gonna—"

"Let go, baby," Connor said. "I want to hear you come for me." He stopped thrusting and rubbed small, firm circles over Hank's prostate; with no reprieve from the sensation, there was no way he could last any longer.

With a choked moan that was almost a sob, Hank dug his heels into Connor's back and came; the heat that had been pooling in his groin flowed through him in a wild rush of pleasure that brought tears to his eyes. He covered his face with one hand, working his cock with the other until he became too sensitive to bear anything more. 

"Jesus," Hank panted, as he came down from the exquisite high of his orgasm. "Holy shit." His hand came away wet from his eyes, and he fought to slow his breathing back down. 

"How do you feel?" Connor asked. He'd withdrawn his fingers when Hank's hand stilled on his cock, and was regarding him with wide, soft eyes. He nuzzled Hank's thigh, then rested his cheek against it.

"Fuck," Hank said, wiping his eyes. "Like I need to kiss you. Come up here, you're too far away."

Connor eased Hank's legs off his shoulders and climbed up the bed, bracing a hand on Hank's chest and tangling the other in his hair as he leaned in for a kiss. "Better?"

"Yeah, I just gotta—" Hank wiped his eyes again. "Fuck, that was a lot. Give me a sec."

"Here," Connor said, pulling on Hank's shoulder until he rolled up on his side and into Connor's arms. He kissed Hank's cheeks and forehead as he rubbed a hand down his back in smooth, firm strokes. "Take all the time you need."

"You're so sweet," Hank mumbled into Connor's chest, where his shirt had fallen open. The rush of orgasm had fled, leaving a thick, syrupy contentment in its wake. He could fall asleep and sleep for a week, he thought. As long as Connor stayed in bed with him.

"Thank you," Connor said softly, "for giving me the gift of your trust."

"Thanks for giving me a push. For being so patient with this old asshole."

"Sweetest asshole I know," Connor replied with a wink.

"Did you just—was that a joke?" 

"Could be," Connor said loftily, "depending on how funny you thought it was."

"You said you'd give me what I needed, and you did," Hank said, leaning up for a slow, sweet kiss. "You were perfect."

"It was my pleasure. You let me in so beautifully, Hank." Connor buried his fingers in Hank's hair, holding him in place for another languid kiss. "You deserve everything I can give you." 

For once, somehow, Hank didn't feel inclined to argue. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, friends! As always, if you want to come say hi on twitter I can be found at [@robofingering](https://twitter.com/robofingering/).


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